The days of wine and roses

Recently I've experienced an onslaught of thoughts composed poetically. I'll share some of those here, transcribed from the back of receipts and shards of paper. Thank you for reminding me of this outlet.

After a recent time I spent meditating, I wrote this. It was a waking experience, but encumbered by things that I found and the consequences of finding them there. I'm still learning how to take it all in, and how to deal with letting it out.

At the base of the willow tree,
where the root is centered,
the darkest hole
and the deepest splinter.
Breathe deep unsettled mind as time
and distance meet
under waves of wanting,
nothing is and always is.
Your fire kept darkened,
smothered far from surface air.
In cracks and in fissures,
the emptiness steeps
keeping safe the source.
Hardwired, breaking through
a fortuitous expanse to find a vast
and lonely space.
Upon returning, shaken by visions
shared and lost
visions permeative, separating,
entangled
creating a rift and a narrow bridge
upon which a wind
about me as I make my way
sharing what I've found and the
distance it's created.


Late at night, my mind sometimes speaks in french.

Un jour, quand le soleil ne lavera pas en mer,
il dansera avec les etoiles
tous les monde fera l'amore,
et je serai content.
Mais aujourd'hui je passer
mon temps en noir et brun
et sans bonheur,
j'aurais le froideur
et oubliera mes mains.